Posted by Rebecca of the Moors on December 17, 1998 at 08:59:45:
In Reply to: Re: A letter from DADDY posted by Glencora Falconer on December 17, 1998 at 08:40:53:
Milord and Milady,
Is your rapt audience not to know the climax of this heady discourse?
I beg of you, please continue. We breathily await.
Rebecca of the Heathered Moors
: Mi Corazon,
: My miserable addled brain knows not how to respond to your honied words. Their nector rides heavy on my comprehension. My philososphy cannot encompass your sweetly textured meanings, but I shall endeavor to peruse, and too treasure, their fine form pressed upon the page and seared forever in my memory.
: Your bonny son, shone so sweetly in the fine, fine sunshine of a summer day, but I, I was but a mirror, or a pane of glass to him. Only to be glanced through, or be, a mere reflection of himself. But you, you, you have seen to my deepest, warmest center, to my very soul.
: You speak of warm evenings, ahhhh, a few of those I've known. The sun setting brilliantly upon a bridge of gold. A eagle glides on the warm winds wafting up from the ocean. Humming birds dance in courtship, one upon the other. A menage a toi of avian passion.
: I'll sit tonight, under the twinkling stars, and dream of your "stake... planted, mature and strong" a positive maypole in the spring. All decked with ribbons and flowers, a promise of.... But I 'll not continue. For much separates us, and much always shall.
: Remember Mi Corazon, you shall always have my "esteem" for the saddest thing that can be said,
: "What could have been."
: The tears shall dampen my pillow this evening, they will the bittersweet tears of longing that cannot be fulfilled.
: I'll shall don the slippers of a winged-nature and be with you on the morrow. For responsibilities call, one's that I can not deny.
: Adieu, Adieu, Mi Corazon, till it the morrow.
: 'Cora
:
: :
: : Mon Coeur
: : I read you well, those words so deep, those eyes I yearn to learn about, but I challenge not your soul with these few words, but praise it all in my mind behold.
: : With great risk of scolding from my young son I risk the wrath of the thespian mind, the words that can hurt more than the scythe, the scolding of son to Father is as brine upon my eyes, but risk I do for he is kind, I should know, he is of mine.
: : Indeed Cora you have found the man, perhaps undone him I am not sure, but found one of thoughts, of summertime, of warm evenings in the barmy sun, of private silence bound with golden twine, from golden eyes that can see mine.
: : Hurry Cora and bare your soul, I thirst for all, I need to know, I am like a caravan in tow, awaiting your every word to quench my need.
: : The stake is planted, mature and strong, and all in bud, but sadly marred where others have tried to scale, to reach out, to try to hold my hand, sadly I have not been so that bold.
: :
: : Attend your tasks and be aware, that here there are thoughts quite rare, anxious to hear that you are fine, don those sandals with anxious haste,
: : to tell me more of your journey so far, of other things from afar..................
: : Aš Biento